I was honored to photograph the birth of Sarah and Dean's baby boy, Khai Liam June 20 and 21. The images made during the intensity of labor encapsulate such pure emotions. In the above photography I cannot avoid seeing the most intense expression of love I've ever seen. Not only the love between husband and wife as he supports her in a time when she needs support more than ever, but the love of a mother bringing her child into the world. In that photograph there is anticipation and pain — not the kind of pain to be feared, but the kind to be revered. It was one of those images that I knew was remarkable the moment I took it.
Toward the end of labor she asked me why it had to be so painful. I told her it was to teach us how much we can love someone.
I shot some maternity portraits for my good friends Sarah and Dean a few weeks ago. We took them at Dean's parent's house where the two of them were married. I can't wait to meet their little one. More can be seen here.
We spotted these turtles on a walk a few days ago all lined up, sunning themselves on this log. I was excited to see the little one standing between two bigger ones on the right. A few weeks ago this lake was still frozen and Joe and I were walking along it trying to get labor going. When we saw these turtles it was our first time taking the walk with Truman out and able to look around and feel the breeze.
Things are little slow over here because I've been on Truman time. For the next few weeks keep up with us at my other blog as I enjoy my babymoon with my new son.
In a few months I hope to be back to taking photos of things other than my little man. Feel free to contact me if you're looking to head out for some portraits this summer.
I'm playing a little blog catch-up this week, so stay tuned.
Who's that strange looking fellow snuggled up to Joe, you ask? Why, it's me, of course. We headed to Osaka (a Teppanyaki restaurant where they cook food on a griddle in front of you; similar to the chain Benihana) for dinner on my birthday. They not only sang a spirited and very odd song to me and brought out tempura-fried bananas (interesting), but also plopped this fine mask over my head.
Alright, I actually kind of thought the mask was cool and wanted to wear it, as you can see below:
I keep encountering people during interviews who proclaim themselves woefully inept at communicating or brand themselves as boring. And, yet, often these people end up being the most interesting once they get going.
I wonder if the whole concept is similar to what our writing crew at the University of San Diego used to call "the ritual apology" — an affirmation of inadequacy that is offered prior to presenting one's work that often consists of such gems as "I wrote it at five in the morning after getting back from a bar," or "I wrote this several years ago" — which we found ourselves doing before reading each piece in our little writer's club. Once we branded it, if anyone began to apologize for their work, we'd stop them, chiding in unison "ritual apology" and get on with the workshop.
I think maybe sometimes people just want to free themselves from negativity they're holding inside — these thoughts that what they have to say is not important.
One of the things I try to do in my writing — journalistic, fiction and here — and photographs, is to show that nothing is by definition insignificant.
Sure, we have to filter things we encounter, choosing what is more or less important, but that doesn't make the things we overlook any less significant to someone else.
Joe and I have found the perfect way to satisfy my pack-rattery while maintaining order in the house. We like to call it Paperless Nostalgia.
Basically, we're going digital with all of our little paper and photo keepsakes and sending mounds of former trees to the recycling center. In honor of the occasion, here's the rest of that letter Joe received from his alma mater, you remember, the one that began "We've been thinking about you (name):"
We probably should have started this process oh, say, a year ago when we purchased this scanner/printer ... But let's just say the program didn't get installed until a few days ago.
We might be procrastinators, but soon, we'll be Paperless Procrastinators with a wonderful digital collection of our lives. And we might just have to share some of the gems that turn up during our switch-over.
Speaking of which, here's a flashback portrait of me from Joe's old wallet:
The Teflon on our Black and Decker griddle started scratching off (oddly, where some peanut butter fell on it) so Joe went to find us this one as a replacement. It sounded great, like those As Seen On TV products loud smiling people try to sell you late at night.
It even seemed to work fine, at first. Then we noticed that the cooking surface not only has hot and cold spots, but also seems to randomly choose what temperature it's going to be.
But the best (i.e. worst) thing about this griddle is that when it's about to do something crazy it starts to make this clicking sound. Of course, you never know if that means it's going to get super-hot, or way too cold or take off into space.
The other day, Joe thought he heard the clicking sound when the griddle was not plugged in. It's going back to the store today.
p.s. What we really want is a table top griddle that doesn't have non-stick coating. Our research tells us this is impossible to find at a price we're willing to pay. But if anyone ever sees one that's affordable, let us know.
And I'll also offer this aside about music infomercials:
The other night I fell asleep with the TV on and started having a dream that involved a bunch of 70s music. Right before I woke up I came to this realization in my dream that 70s love songs were actually pretty awesome. Then I woke up to a TV trying to convince me of the same fact.
I think that's their goal, to get you to fall asleep and play enough music that you grow a subconscious attachment to their crappy cds. They're dream advertisers.
This was taken moments before the duck and little girl in its stomach took a dramatic turn and headed straight for me. I managed to get out of the way, mostly. The only casualty was my pinky nail.
So, how did I get run down by a giant duck? We were at an Art Sled Rally in Minneapolis, where people sled down a hill in artistic sled creations, some being more decorative than functional. The pictures probably say it best:
Joe and I spent Friday and Saturday night at a conference for my work at the Northland Inn, which we thought would be the perfect chance to try out Rock Band with a large group of people. After dragging the whole Rock Band get up — the XBOX360, drum set and two guitars — along with the Wii, we were devastated to find the hotel TV wouldn't allow us to plug in any kind of external device.
So on Saturday Joe saved the day by driving back home to get our own TV. We were surprised we didn't get more strange looks as we carried it in, up the elevator and to our room.
Joe and I were brushing our teeth, when he turned to say something to me, screaming "OWE!"
Brooke: "What?" Joe: "I hit my leg on the commode." Brooke: "The what?" Joe: "The commode. You know, the cabinet." Brooke: "I'm pretty sure commode means toilet."
A Wikipedia search returned this definition: "a cabinet, with one or more doors, which served as a washstand with a washbasin and water pitcher..."
He could offer little explanation as to how he knew what commode meant, considering it is a pretty archaic word from the days before plumbing. Though we both suspect his dad, friend of old world novelty words, probably uses it.
I wasn't completely incorrect, however, as Wikipedia continues by stating that commodes "also offered an enclosed area below for storing a chamberpot."
Joe and I spent a lot of time listening to Andrew Bird's album The Mysterious Production of Eggs yesterday, particularly the song "Opposite Day," which begins with Bird's astonishment that he has "not become a cephalopod."
Neither Joe nor I could explain what a cephalopod was off hand. Nevertheless, Joe came up with this elaborate scenario for a music video for "Opposite Day" involving a factory worker who turns into an octopus.
Then, this morning, Joe created this pancake, which he says was not created purposefully ("I dripped and was trying to connect the drips to make a pancake," he said):
(I added the blueberry eyes for effect.)
Finally this evening I decided to look up what a cephalopod is and was astonished to find that an octopus is a cephalopod! And this image, which I think look astonishingly similar to Joe's pancake, was sitting right there on the Wikipedia page:
I decided to look back through my entire blog tonight and could scarcely believe all of the things documented within it. It made me realize how fun its been to write this blog, even if it sometimes becomes difficult to keep up with everything I want to write about.
Then I realized that if no one read it, I'd have little motivation to collect all of these thoughts, images and videos into one document.
So, thank you to everyone who reads this. You give me a reason to write.
I'm working on a story about the Paul Green School of Rock Music in St. Paul. Here's a photo I made Saturday straight out of the camera. I love the movement and light; it's even better than what I was imagining when I set up the shot, waiting for the light to be eclipsed by her figure. By the way, she's 14! Morephotos.
My sister in law, Nikki sent me this photo this morning from an October trip to the Minnesota Zoo. I always feel a little strange when Joe's wearing our camelbak and I start drinking from it, especially when I'm walking.
Despite the fact that I am a dismal doodler, I often find myself not only doodling, but showing off my doodles. Once I even printed one of these "cartoons" in my college newspaper as art with an opinion piece about blogging. After some teasing, I had to make a personal rule not to publish any more of my "artwork."
Nevertheless, I'm letting my doodles back out today.
About eight months ago I created a new mascot for the newspaper where I work named Clocky. He is loosely based off of the clock clip art that sits on the header of each of our front pages, as seen below:
Although our online news may never stop, the news in our weekly papers so obviously does stop (every day but Saturday) that I've always found the tag line and clock ironic.
And so, when we were thinking of ways to market our papers in parades Clocky was born:
Since, I've been doodling him here and there, giving him thought and word bubbles when appropriate and even naming my fantasy football team "Tick-TockClocky."
He has quickly become one of my best-loved doodles.
But I hadn't thought about Clocky much recently until I saw Mr. Goodcents beaming from the side of a Mr. Goodcents sub shop in Mankato on Friday. It was as if, finally, someone else appreciated my concept of placing goofy arms, legs and eyes on an inanimate object to create a nearly nonsensical mascot.
Here he is in all his glory:
I was so impressed with the mascot that we stopped to get a sandwich there. The sandwich was okay, but the endless mascot branding all over the packaging and napkins was what made the meal. He looks like Clocky's long-lost penny-shaped cousin.
We had a pretty low-key new years eve at home last night with James and Nikki playing games, eating quesadillas and laughing ... a lot.
My favorite moment from the final hours of 2007:
Brooke: "Thanks, Joe for cleaning up that milk I spilled on this chair." Joe: "Uh ... I didn't clean up that milk." Brooke: "Um ... Well, thanks to whoever cleaned up the milk on this chair." Joe: "No one cleaned up the milk." ...
Brooke: "Thanks to whoever's butt cleaned up the milk on this chair."
We had a very hap-hazard dinner at Denny's Christmas Eve during which a very cute 3-year-old was overheard from a nearby table saying "Happy Birthday Jesus!" while her mom tried to get her to eat her macaroni and cheese.
It's been a lot of fun watching my nephew, Joe, grow as a wrestler. When we walked in and started paying for our tickets to event, the salesman asked us if we had a wrestler. Joe put his hand on my belly and said our wrestler was still in there.
I'm a writer, journalist and the eyes behind Spellbound Jungle Photography. I offer lifestyle portraits and wedding coverage in the Princeton, St. Cloud and Twin Cities metro areas. For more information feel free to contact me at brooke@ spellboundjungle.com.
